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Weekly Contest #93
A couple of neighbours try to gate crash a party after being shunned, only to find their revenge plans frozen out. Bob and May, an American couple in their late 30’s sit together, but at opposite ends on their sofa, both activating the reclining mode that lifted their chubby feet somewhere almost as high as their heads. It was lucky their massive television was mounted on the wall, otherwise odd, fluff-covered socks would have obscured their view. At each end of the sofa was a small coffee table, on wh...
Phillip has to rely on his own creative talents when graffiti artists gatecrash his daughter’s birthday party.The doorbell rang. Twice. Phillip marched along the corridor and opened the heavy front door for his guests. “Miranda. Lovely to see you. Come through to the garden and meet the other children. You can leave the gift on the table.” The girl in the pretty party dress ran through the house, leaving her parents behind. Her fat...
Weekly Contest #37
One day there were seven pairs of underpants. They were not ordinary. They were evil. At least that was the impression Gary wanted to give to anyone who dared venture near our den. He said any of the boys from the other gang would be terrified at seeing one pair of pants nailed to a tree, let alone seven. ‘They would be shit scared’, he said at our meeting. ‘The Wileys will wonder what happened to the kids who wore the pants and steer clear.’ The Wileys were the kids from the other estate, the Wiles Estate, which backed onto ...
Weekly Contest #31
My knees are killing me. Of all the pastimes to take up when you are in your 60’s, gardening has to be the most ridiculous. I’ve got all the equipment; gloves that say ‘sod off’ to anything up to the ferocity of a Blackthorn bush, a little seat that makes it easier on the knees but then piles on the agony when you get up, metal hand tools that buckle and snap with the slightest sniff of leverage, wellies, a sturdy wheelbarrow and of course a decade of old clothes not fit for public consumption.I know one good reason they say we should take u...
Weekly Contest #30
“I don’t know what’s wrong with her. She just…changed.”Tony Smith sipped his pint in the local pub. His friend, another late twentysomething male, sat opposite him, listening to the lament. It was in stark contrast to the jolly sounds coming out of the jukebox.“They do that, women”, said his friend. “Change. Don’t blame yourself. Easier to say than to do, but you have to move on, mate.”“It’s more than that. We had a few bust-ups in the last year, but I didn’t see this one coming. One minute we’re having breakfast and discussing fam...
Weekly Contest #29
One day there were seven pairs of underpants. They were not ordinary. They were evil. At least that was the impression Gary wanted to give to anyone who dared venture near our den. He said any of the boys from the other gang would be terrified at seeing one pair of pants nailed to a tree, let alone seven. ‘They would be shit scared’, he said at our meeting. ‘The Wileys will wonder what happened to the kids who wore the pants and steer clear.’ The Wileys were the kids from the other estate, the Wiles Estate, which backed onto the woods. ...
Weekly Contest #27
I used to abhor these evenings. Hours of incestuous arse-licking by a load of self-congratulatory hacks and terrible food. However, I’ve been looking forward to tonight’s ceremony for ages. I watched Carla this morning in the reflection of my laptop screen, adjusting the scattering of minor journalistic awards to make space on the shelf for the big one. She must have been fairly confident and rightly so. I have to say she looks particularly gorgeous tonight in her glad rags, sat next to me clutching her champagne flute and making small t...
Weekly Contest #26
The old man shuffled into the smoky, dingy office of Lieutenant Colonel Marcel Dugarry, escorted and assisted by a youthful soldier with an empty sleeve pinned to the chest of his tunic. A window pane rattled from the concussion of the mighty artillery pieces lobbing high explosives into the German lines seven miles away. Dugarry waved his hand in the air, gesturing to the man to take a seat opposite him at the large, hardwood desk. The old man, walking with a cane, wore a set of dusty tails that had seen better days, white gloves and black ...
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